Art Versus Science
by PinkBomberJacket
Summary: In which Tony Stark tries to prove a point, attempts to make breakfast, and accidentally unleashes evil upon New York city. Lots of Steve x Tony feels and fluff and Domestic Avengers! Yay! Rated T for safety, future chapters may change that. :
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"What… What is this meant to be?"

"It looks like something died in your fry pan, Tony."

"SMELLS like it too."

"I thought it smelled more like motor oil, but maybe that's just me…"

"Is that… a tentacle?"

"Guys, leave him alone, at least he tried."

Steve smiled ruefully up at a significantly-more-blackened-than-usual Tony, who was carrying in his arms a large, smoking plate of what could only be identified as fossils from the late Carboniferous period. Dummy was following a few paces behind, chittering in a concerned sounding way and holding a fire extinguisher at the ready. Tony placed it in the middle of the dining table with an illustrious wave, red oven mitts making him vaguely resemble a lobster, and watched with an almost child-like pride for his team's reaction.

It wasn't a positive one.

...

This had all started a few days ago, during a shouting match between Natasha and Clint; it was always Natasha and Clint. Whether it was over movie choice, remote control rights, the automatic light system, or Clint's rights to wander naked through Stark Tower, they were always bickering over something. It was enough to drive anyone mad (and was also the reason that Bruce had a special lab allocated to him so that he could slink away and relax).

On this particular day, the fight had been over cooking rosters, and Tony had unwittingly been caught in the crossfire. Emerging from a 36 hour stint in the workshop, with engine grease smeared up his arms and his hair pushed back by a pair of flash goggles, he had stumbled out of the elevator looking like electrical death warmed up, muttering about caffeine and link circuitry when his senses were assaulted by a cacophony of Russian. Blinking and shaking his head, he noticed Natasha pointing angrily at him but still shouting at Clint.

"JARVIS, if you would be so kind as to translate this shit for me?" he said, his voice muddy and half asleep on his feet.

"Of course, sir. Would you like me to paraphrase?"

"God, yes."

"They seem to have been discussing Agent Romanov's lack of enthusiasm for cooking this evening. Clint is disgruntled, because he had to make dinner last night and was not allowed to order take out. You entered the conversation a few minutes ago, sir. Agent Romanov was saying that she should be allowed to order takeout, as you do every time you are allocated to a meal. They have switched to Korean. Would you like me to continue sir?"

"Yes, I would, JARVIS." There was a minute pause as JARVIS recalibrated his translation processors.

"Sir, Clint insists it's merely because you're incompetent, whereas Agent Romanov can, in fact, cook very well."

"Incompetent? He called me incompetent?"

"Yes, sir. My translator systems are the most advanced, by your own design. Would you like me to check again?"

"No, JARVIS, thank you. That will be all. Just get the coffee ready for me, please."

"Already done, sir. Just as you like it."

He brushed past the squabbling pair in the hallway without a second glance and listened as their foreign argument faded. Tony was offended, even in his current exhausted-genius state, but coffee came before proving others wrong at this point. At any point, really. He rubbed his eyes with the back of a filthy hand and pushed open the kitchen door, crash course set for the coffee pot.

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrngh" he groaned in approval, leaning against the bench as he sculled straight from the coffee pot. His eyes closed and he leant his head back, rolling his stiff shoulders in appreciation of warm coffee and respite. He heard a quiet snigger.

"I see that our dear friend has emerged from the depths of his lair again. Just in time for movie night, too."

"Good morning to you too, Cap."

Tony rolled his head forward lazily and pried his eyes open. Steve was sitting across the bench, straight and tall and impeccably clean and dressed and nice smelling, or perhaps that was just the toast that Steve was buttering and the coffee finally taking effect in Tony's brain. Whatever it was, he was pretty sure that butter didn't normally smell like soap and peppermint. Oh well.

"What have you been working on down there, Tony? Flying cars?"

"Nah, Dad declared that a dead end in the seventies. Artificial intelligence, actually."

"Of course." He looked up at Tony with his ridiculously blue eyes, eyes that managed to sparkle IN THE DARK, a smile quirking at his lips as he raised a glass of orange juice. Damn that super serum. Tony leant forward, across the marble bench, and nonchalantly swiped a piece of toast.

"Oh no, go right ahead." Steve said, rolling his eyes. Tony took a bite.

"Fengs, Kep." He chewed, savoring the taste of fresh food in his mouth. Two minute noodles and decaf coffee (damn Pepper and her meddling with his stashes)from coffee cups of questionable hygienic quality was not a very balanced diet. At least, that's what all of the SHIELD reports tried to tell him. Damn meddling people. He looked around as the fog in his brain cleared. It was sunny, that much was clear. Obviously daytime, but he couldn't deduce much more than that.

"Cap, you don't mind me asking what the time is, do you?"

"Not at all. Go right ahead." He took another swig of orange juice, and then started.

"Oh. You meant me. Right. It's, um…" He lifted his sleeve, revealing his wrist and an old fashioned, ridiculously old fashioned, watch. Tony had offered several times to replace it with something that didn't require a daily wind up, that could tell him the date and month as well as the time, hell, could even check his vitals, but no, stubborn old Cap wanted to keep his eighty year old watch-

"It's ten to six in the morning." Tony spat his coffee across the counter.

"Are you kidding me? Cap, NO ONE should be awake at this hour. Except me. Wait, not even ME. How the hell are you so… so… bright eyed and bushy tailed?" He saw the quirk in the corner of Steve's mouth lift again out of the corner of his eye as he refilled the pot. He liked that he could make him smile. It made him feel warm inside. Like he belonged. Like he could actually be useful. Like he wasn't completely and totally-

"JARVIS?" Tony called.

"Yes, sir?" He was always glad when that impassive voice filled his ears.

"I need you to make a list of things for me. What are the normal ingredients you need for a family breakfast?"

"I shall find out and compile a list for you, sir."

"Thankyou, JARVIS."

"My pleasure, sir. Printing a list of necessary materials as we speak."

There was a whirring noise, and Steve jumped as what he had initially believed to be an air vent spewed paper. Tony ripped the page off the dispenser when it finally stopped whirring, scanned over the page, and then stuffed it in the back pocket of his admittedly filthy and VERY well fitting jeans. Steve would deny it if anyone were to ever say anything, but he had most certainly taken a good look at said back pocket area, and had most certainly had several very un-captainly thoughts cross his mind in regards to the removal of said pants before clearing his throat and asking.

"What are you planning, Stark?"

"Oh, nothing. Someone mentioned in Korean earlier that I couldn't cook and I figured I'd prove them wrong but that is completely unnecessary and irrelevant to you right now and I need to go to the shops so I'll be back later-"

"Oh-ho, no you don't, mister." Steve laughed and stepped in front of the semi-delirious Stark as he tried to make his way to the elevator. He bumped ineffectually against the super soldier's expansive chest and looked up blearily as the Captain set his strong hands on his shoulders and steered him towards the showers and his bed.

"I didn't understand the majority of what yo just said, but there is no way you are going out until you've at LEAST showered and slept for an hour." He paused."Or twelve."

"But why nooooot?" Tony whined, batting half heartedly at Steve's hands.

"Public image."

Tony scoffed.

"I think my ship has sailed on that particular topic, Cap."

"Doesn't matter. You're on a team now, and that means you look out for the team image too."

"Yes, _mom_…" They reached the clean white doors of the bathrooms and Steve marched him on through. He stood Tony by a heated towel rack, which he promptly lent his face and upper body on. He curled his body lovingly around it, coveting the warmth, letting it seep into his bones.

"Stay." Steve told him firmly whilst searching under the sink for towels. He pushed a fluffy white one with the Stark emblem on it into the weary mechanic's hands. Steve nudged him gently, coaxing him into standing up again.

"Get in the shower. Now. I'll go get you pajamas and then you, Stark, are going to bed. Or else."

Tony looked up at him, weak smile spreading across his features.

"Okay, Cap. Okay."

...

Tony Stark did indeed shower, and sleep, and sleep did him good. However, it did nothing for his fixation upon proving to a particular pair of SHIELD agents that he could indeed be useful. He eventually (with the help of a rather confused and reluctant Bruce) managed to go shopping for ingredients without Natasha or Clint finding out, which they both believed was an achievement in itself. However, after waking up an hour and a half earlier than usual on his allocated morning, approaching the kitchen like a man going to war, and having made seven attempts at a basic batch of scrambled eggs, he was forced to admit that sneaking food past two SHIELD operatives was going to be the easy part. If there was one thing he was glad he had brought with him, it was his blast goggles. He had never known how EXPLOSIVE basic cookery could be.

Which, of course, led up to the moment when Tony was watching his weird-ass adoptive family very closely, waiting for the much worked-for word of praise. It did not come. Steve couldn't bare the look of disappointment as Tony took in the barely-concealed revulsion of the people sitting next to him. Clint was having a muffled fit of hysterics, leaning precariously back in his chair, whilst Natasha was trying to remain as impassive as ever. Bruce had leant in closer, adjusting his glasses to peer at the cooking phenomenon before him, and Thor, oblivious of the culinary disaster on the table, simply smiled and began serving himself from the dishes.

"Many thanks to the man of iron for this morning feast!" He boomed, and even Steve cringed slightly as he shoveled a large lump of the substance into his mouth.

"I… I know it's not the BEST breakfast ever made…" Tony started quietly, wringing his bemittened hands together. God he was adorable.

"You're right. It's really not."  
"Clint!"

"What?" He smiled at Natasha innocently, and rocked further back on his chair, foot balanced nonchalantly on the table.

"I don't know Tony. You remember those Sludge monsters? The ones Dr. Doom released in the sewers last month? Yeah, I reckon they'd think this is awesome." Bruce said with a small smile, and Clint gave him a thumbs up.

Steve could see Tony's levels of indignance rising rapidly. Still wearing the ridiculous red lobster gloves, the billionaire crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to one hip. All in all, he was looking ready to slap down the next person to laugh over his valiant efforts. _Time to step in_, Steve thought to himself, _and be damage control_.

As usual.

"Thank you, Tony, this looks absolutely delicious," he started. He looked around at the assembled diners and begged them with his eyes to follow his lead.

"But do you know what I think we all need most to go with this meal? Bagels. Lots and… LOTS of bagels." They took the hint with much gusto. There was the sound of chairs being hastily pulled out and a flurry of movement as the team swept each other along the hall towards the tower's lifts, with cries and exclamations of a group field trip to collect bagels. Steve smiled at Tony, who seemed slightly stunned by the swiftness at which everyone had left.

"At least I tried," Tony said earnestly.

"I know you did."

"Cooking seems to be more of an art than a science."

"Indeed."

The captain extended a warm hand to him. Tony took it, questioning look in his eyes, but the captain merely smiled and pulled him towards the elevator.

"Let's get bagels before your delightful biohazard of a breakfast messes us up." He paused.

"Well, messes us up MORE." Steve smiled when he heard Tony's laugh behind him.

"Fine," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Get Dummy to throw away our leftovers."

"Of course, sir."

"Thankyou."

And so they headed down with the others, blissfully unaware of the chaos about to be unleashed upon their city.

...

A.N. Hi guys!

So this is my first ever attempt at writing an Avengers Fanfiction, and I have no idea whether it is any good. :) Please tell me your thoughts on this, on the fandom, whatever you want. ANYTHING avengers or Stony related would be awesome!

Also, a huge thank you to my dear friend Ema, who has an awesome blog thingie right here . She has put up with correcting and proofreading my writing and even with my fan art spamming her phone. THANKYOU EMA. XD


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Here we are. Five cheese pizzas, seven apple cinnamons, nine chocolate, and fifteen garlic bagels, all hot and fresh. Hope you're all hungry."

The waitress poured the food onto the table and made a swift exit before any of them could ask for coffee refills. The café was small and warm, and the golden sun was pouring into the window booth that all six of them had managed to squeeze themselves into. Steve and Tony had caught up to the rest of them on the street as they searched for edible food. They had managed to squeeze onto the curved, crowded seat next to each other, everyone's legs bumping and tangling inextricably under the table like iPod earphones in a schoolbag. Tony slouched in the seat, elbows against the table and one hand rubbing the back of his neck. He must have a crick in it or something from sleeping funny, Steve thought to himself. He pretended not to notice its particular curve as he ran his fingers up and down, and MOST CERTAINLY did not feel any desire to do so himself. That would be absurd. He straightened his back, hyperaware of Tony's wiry frame next to him, and watched as Thor produced a jar of Nutella from seemingly nowhere and proceeded to smother it on a pizza flavored bagel. Bruce followed the track of his eyes and his expression changed to one of fascinated disbelief.

"Thor, what in the world are you doing?"

" I'm breaking my fast upon a hearty midgardian bagel and succulent spread of chocolate." Thor replied matter-of-factly, and for the second time that morning, Thor put something in his mouth that most surely shouldn't have been there.

"Ooooooooohhh and he ate that."

"That's gross. That's just so, so wrong."

"That's not right, Thor."

"Why ever not, my comrade?" He clapped his hand down upon Bruce's shoulder, his elbow smacking Natasha in the ribs and almost knocking her off the chair.

"Try it! Go on, it tastes delicious!" He shoved his enormous bagel-filled fist into Bruce's face, who politely tried not to recoil.

"Go on, Bruce. I think it looks DEEEEE-LICIOUS." Clint said with a gloating smile. Bruce shot him a tired look.

"I hate you so much right now," he said, and took a miniscule bite. He rolled it around in his mouth and looked up at the ceiling in concentration.

"You know…. That doesn't actually taste that hideous." He said finally. Clint gave him a dubious look. Natasha studiously avoided everyone's eyes and slid her third bagel from Clint's plate onto her own. Steve kept shifting his attention between the two of his housemates. This sort of standoff, with both men trying to gauge the other's credibility, was what made their group dynamic so interesting. Tony continued to slouch sullenly next to him.

"Fine." Clint said.

"Hand over the nutella, Thor."

Thor obliged with a smile and rumble of approval, and Clint slapped gratuitous amounts of the spread onto another pizza bagel. He eyed it off for a while, then shrugged and bit off an inordinately large chunk of it.

"Heh. You're right, Bruce. Not bad at all." He gave a quick nod and a smile to the other man.

"Anyone else want a try?" He asked, waving the bagel around in their limited airspace.

"Give it over here," Steve said with a smile. Steve felt Tony stiffen slightly next to him. He hadn't touched any of the bagels set in front of him, Steve had noticed out of the corner of his eye. Clint stretched his arm across the table and Steve took the bagel with slight apprehension.

"I hope this isn't some sort of elaborate plot to poison me," He said with an eyebrow raised and took a nice large bite out of it as Natasha snuck yet another bagel from Thor's plate. Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, the bagel was weirdly good. Something in the sweet and the saltiness seemed to balance out and complement each other.

"That really isn't that bad. Maybe we should listen to Thor's suggestions more often."

"Oh, no way, mister. Don't get the wrong ideas, Thor, we all love you to bits, but there is no way I am going to watch you sprinkle cap'n crunch over a poptart, ALSO smothered in vegemite and cheesespray, and let you call it our dinner. That's… That's a one way ticket to I-don't-want-to-know-where, my friend."

Steve heard a quiet throat clearing next to him.

"You know, I have a feeling that you guys might have over ordered a little bit." Tony said grumpily, watching as his housemates barely conjured up looks of shame, all the while shoveling yet more bagels into their mouths.

"None of you will be able to eat the SUPER THOUGHTFUL breakfast I made if you keep eating like that." At this, Clint started choking on an enormous mouthful of bagel. Natasha thumped him on the back, and Steve could have sworn he heard ribs cracking.

"Are- you- kidding me, Tony?" Clint managed between gasps of air.

"Natasha and I have been trained to be immune to most poisons, but that shit could have killed an elephant."

"A _herd _of elephants." Bruce added.

"Hell," Clint said, taking another bite of his bagel. "You could probably eradicate the entire eastern seaboard with that… FOOD if you decided to weaponize it."

"Don't give him ideas, Clint." This was the first time Natasha had spoken up at the cafe.

"Why not? Heck, it wouldn't surprise me if we saw that lump of inedible demon-food attacking people by the end of this month."

"CLINT."

"What?"

And that is when they heard the screaming. They sat perfectly still for a second, then in a unanimous and rather chaotic scuffle all six of the tough, trained, and highly professional superheroes fought to press their noses against the glass window. Eyes widened to a point of pain.

" I hate being right all the time."

Just two blocks away and sluggishly advancing up the street, grossly expanded to the size of a blue whale and yet instantly recognizable for its blackened talon-like appendage, was Tony's breakfast. A waitress dropped a tray of drinks and shrieked like a lady half her age, pointing outside, and the café turned into a screaming din of evacuation and fleeing. All except the avengers, who remained and watched the food monster slide over the top of a car, swallowing it and its occupants completely. It stopped moving for a moment, and seemed to shiver from its bottom to its top, then roared as it spewed the car from its top like a grotesque volcano. Glass rained down upon the street as the four-seater went through a fifth story window on an office building. It turned the majority of its reeking mass towards them and Tony could feel this…THINGS attention crack onto him like a whip. It sent a shiver down his spine.

"Guys… I didn't do this… It wasn't me…" He said meekly, looking towards Steve with wide, imploring eyes. Steve was already in his Captain America mindset, though, closed off and calculating.

"Car!" Natasha shouted above the din of civilians and monsters alike, and Tony felt arms around him seconds before he hit the floor. Glass rained down around him as the car twisted and destroyed one of their favorite establishments. The air was filled with the smell of burnt bagels and brick dust. Clouds of debris made it almost impossible to see beyond a few feet out of the hole in the wall. Tony opened his eyes to have a pair of shockingly blue ones swim in and out of focus. He laughed slightly to see Steve's shirt half undone, the star-spangled uniform underneath partially revealed. He wondered whether Steve ever actually took them off, or if they were permanently integrated with his skin. It wasn't entirely implausible. If SHIELD had figured out how to integrate several particular polymer fibers with his DNA material, they could have easily-

"Is everyone alright?" Steve called.

They were under the remains of their table.

"A-okay, Cap."

"I am uninjured, Captain."

"Small scrape to Natasha's brow-"

"I'm fine, Bruce."

"Yes. Of course. We're fine over here."

"You alright, Tony?" Steve asked. Tony smiled up at him. He felt slightly giddy. Perhaps it was caused by the pain in the back of his skull.

"Happy as a clam, Cap, but I think I'm going to have to ask for a kiss. It's basic protocol for people who get me pinned to the ground like this." Tony loved stirring Steve's 1940's values up, most of all during a battle, but- was that a blush he saw? Cap didn't blush- hell, Tony had always thought that the super serum had gotten rid of that aspect of human functionality, like the forever-sober thing.

"Have you got your suit with you?" Steve asked him, shaking Tony away from any further speculation. He sniggered.

"Do I _LOOK_ like I have my suit with me? Cap, I thought we were just coming out to get bagels and go home, honestly, you people are ridiculous-" He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but Steve pinned him down by the shoulder. With a single hand.

Damn super serum.

Granted, that hand was warm and seemed to fit nicely on his shoulder….

"Stay here, Tony." Steve said firmly, sitting up. Tony wondered how Steve managed to keep him pinned down with only his legs around his waist and one hand on his shoulder. He ignored the notion that perhaps he enjoyed being pinned down by Steve, feeling his legs wrapped around him….

NO.

STOP.

NOT STEVE.

NOT CAPTAIN AMERICA.

"What's the plan, Cap?" Tony heard Clint's voice coming from where the window had been moments before. If Tony had been bothered to crane his neck he would have seen Clint perched in the shattered window frame, quiver and bow in hand.

"We'll need to set up a perimeter. I need your eyes in the sky, Clint. Make sure that Tony's breakfast is the only thing on the streets. I'm sure there are plenty of opportunistic wannabe's out there who will want to take credit for this, but we should make sure that there aren't any bigger fish out there as well. Natasha, we're gonna need SHIELD to clear the streets for us, if you could liaise for us and then help Clint that would be excellent. We don't know how this thing works yet, so Bruce, we'll need you to observe it and give us everything you can get before letting out the other guy. We need to keep him as a last resort. Thor; air support. Annoy this thing for us, find out what makes it tick. Rustle its jimmies. I'll do the same from ground level. Go!" There was the sound of crunching glass and Mjolnir whistling in the air, then only the distant screams. Tony looked up at Steve as he pulled his mask on.

"Steve, I-"

"Save it for later, Tony."

"But Steve-"

"It's dangerous for you out there without your suit. I won't hear any arguments."

"God, Steve, I'm trying to-"

"Stay, Tony." Steve stood up, removing the last shred of his civvies, and disappeared into the fray before Tony could even sit up.

***A.N. - Well hi again guys! So, obviously, I've decided to continue this story for a while longer. I'm thinking anywhere between 6 and 12 chapters at this point.

There was a bit more Stony in there, and a bit of natasha/bruce, did you spot it? ;) it is there, you know...

So, please review guys, even if it's just to tell me where my grammatical and spelling mistakes are. My darling beta only got halfway through before I went on a writing rampage and posted without her checking.

The point is, feedback is my super serum folks. More reviews, more stony feels. XD

And thankyou all for reading! Means so much to me! Next chapter soon!***


	3. Chapter 3

"_Stay here, Tony."_

The words rolled around in his head like cold marbles as he stood up and picked his way across the café, or what was left of it at least. The smell of burnt bagels and ozone filled the air and glass crunched under foot. He could hear the distant screams and lower inhuman roars of his accidental creation through the contorted window frame. Tony blinked as his brain desperately tried to reboot. Frankly, he had no idea what had just happened, what was STILL HAPPENING,or why, but the aching claws of ice in his chest told him that this whole mess was maybe-possibly-definitely-perhaps-distinctly his fault. He had tried so hard, so very, very hard to do something right, to prove that he WASN'T useless, and it had blown up in his face.

Again.

He tried to remember why he had decided to even try not being useless anymore. Uselessness suited him. Uselessness was easy. Uselessness didn't make Steve look at him that way, like he was a child that needed to be cleaned up after all the time-

Wait. Yes it did. THAT was the reason he'd started in the first place. Because everyone thought that all he was capable of was making messes. Tony's father Howard had always said to him that "if you make a problem, you fix a problem". Once Tony had reached adulthood, he had always looked upon this particular saying of his fathers as being ironic in its hypocrisy. Howard was, after all, the root of most of his son's insecurities and problems in the first place. As a result, Tony had spitefully spent the most part of his existence attempting to make as many problems as he could, mind resolutely turned away from the people who would have to clean it up for him. That's what he paid them for anyway.

Until the entire Avengers initiative. He COULDN'T pay them to clean up his messes. No way. They had become his team. His family. His weird, messed up, entirely extraordinary family, and although it sounded ridiculous to a man who had tried for so long to prove that he had no heart, Tony had grown to care for each and every one of Steve.

Tony had made a problem. And now Steve was going to fix it. Because that's what Steve does.

"Well, screw that," Tony said. His phone was out of his pocket and at his ear by the time he had climbed out of the café window onto the rubble-strewn sidewalk, and he was already walking up the street when JARVIS answered.

"We appear to have a problem, sir."

"Indeed we do, JARVIS, and I'm going to need the suit."

"Of course, sir. Shall I send it to your current location?"

Tony paused. "Actually, send it to the source of this mess. I think it's time to try out program 7."

"But sir, the beta is purely in prototype mode, it is far from ready for field use-"

"You don't know until you try, JARVIS. I've made a problem and now it's time to fix it."

He flicked the phone shut and broke into a run, a smile cracking across his features. He could do good too. He would show them.

...

Steve was feeling good, the familiar zing of adrenalin lending more power to his considerable strength, masking the tiredness and tension that had been building for days. Everything was under control and for some strange reason it was all going to plan. The crowds had been evacuated. The streets emptied, and frankly that was always half the battle. Even the creature seemed to be slowing down in its insatiable rage. As the people were cleared by SHIELD agents, and the usually thriving midtown slowly stilled, so too did the creature, retracting its gelatinous, charred appendages and shutting its gaping black maw. After ten minutes of streets lacking targets, the creature seemed to have lost its violent temperament, settling down to the general demeanour of a lonely five-year-old. Steve watched from a safe distance as the sentient breakfast rolled (or squelched, more like) over the tops of abandoned cars and buses like they were nothing more than gravel on a driveway. It covered both lanes of stilled traffic and pressed its curious nodes against the windows of buildings. Shattered glass lay everywhere. The sucking and obscene popping noises that escaped from the breakfast-gone-bad filled the air, and along with the smell, it was enough to leave the captain feeling slightly woozy. His commlink crackled.

"_I don't know about you guys, but I think we should name this thing."_ Hawkeye said down the radio. The captain rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"We are not keeping Tony's breakfast as a pet, Hawkeye."

"_I like the name Paul. Paul is a good name."_ He heard Bruce say. A cloud of canary-yellow vapour whooshed out of the sentient sludge's back. The commlink was filled with the sound of coughing. _"Or maybe Stinky would be more appropriate."_

Steve reviewed the data in his mind; giant, unknown sentient organism, with varying speed and reaction times, assumingly to stimuli, and a definite intent to consume living things. This was reinforced when the creature snatched a bird from the sky with a long blackened tentacle.

"Hawkeye, can you loose a flare past this thing? I don't want you to hit it. Let it pass Tony's monster at about twenty feet. I want to test a theory."

"_Sure thing, Cap_."

He watched the white light streak from on high; lightning fast, the creature snatched it mid-flight from the air and engulfed it in oozing black mass.

"_Shoot! Did you see that, Cap?!_"

Captain let out a breath.

"That I did. Definitely reacts according to movement, then. Its motor skills seem to be improving. Anyone got any ideas on how to neutralize our little friend here?" There is a pause, and then the commlink crackles again, the high-pitched whine of weather interference filling the background before Thor's voice overpowers it.

"_I would verily unleash my bestowed powers if that would be desired, captain?"_

"_That wouldn't be such a good idea, cap_," Bruce interjected before steve could reply. "_We don't know what sort of bio or chemical threat this thing poses, and hitting it with a tonne of lightning isn't going to make the problem any simpler_." Steve nodded to himself.

"Right. No lightning, Thor. Bruce, keep us updated on any biological observations you make. Any suggestions yourself?" There's another pause before Bruce replies again.

"_It's going to sound far-fetched_," he says, and even across the fuzzy intercom he can tell the doctor is hesitating.

"Doesn't matter, anything is better than nothing," Steve prompts down the line. His eyes were still tracking the creature.

"_Well, this thing is essentially an overgrown omelette, right? As in, "Stinky" here is mostly just a ball of grease and burnt egg with a lot more emotions than it's used to. So, what do you use to get rid of the gross bits stuck at the bottom of the frying pan?"_

Steve cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you suggesting we just cover this thing in dishwashing detergent?"

"_It sounds stupid, but the science is sound, Captain. I tested the theory on a biological sample." _

Steve thought it over, assessing the general dimensions of the creature and making calculations. They were going to need a heck of a lot of detergent...

"Agent Romanov, see if you can't get SHIELD to bring us two standard oil trucks filled with detergent, one from the south end of this brute and one from the north."

"_Already on it, Captain. They should be here in about ten."_

"Thanks everyone, Cap out."

His frame sagged slightly and he leant against the wall, numbers and figures buzzing like wasps through his mind. This crisis was pretty much in the "averted" status, and Steve could practically see the piles of paperwork Fury would give them following this little debacle.

Steve straightened as a middle-aged man burst from his car with a slight shriek, his overweight body carrying him up the street. The creature (now christened Stinky by a radio-vote) roared, air whistling from various pores and gloopy tunnels in its body. The sulphurous tendrils extended again as it steamrollered forward. Steve hefted his shield up in one hand and bolted out onto the street, mindless of his vulnerability. There was no way he was going to have any casualties today.

"Hey! Sir!" he shouted, vaulting his body over the bonnet of a cab.

"Stop! It isn't safe for you to be-" he never got to finish his sentence. Out of nowhere came the distinctive sound of repulsors, and an extremely welcome streak of red and gold swept the civilian down an alley and out of sight. Of course Tony had gotten the suit. Of course he'd come to help. Steve knew that Tony loathed being helpless. In fact, if truth be told, Steve was glad that Tony was safe inside his flying tin can. His stomach lurched at the thought of Tony, one of his team's most valuable assets and now a rather begrudging friend of his, being out there alone and unprotected. Tony was just so devastatingly human without his suit, so ridiculously breakable. Thinking about it caused a wave of nausea not quite related to Stinky-Paul-Whatsitsname's emissions. Steve couldn't quite understand why his reaction to this concept was so severe.

Brushing away these thoughts, Steve put his feelings down to team spirit. Co-dependency. Yes.

There weren't any other options possible.

"Cap!" Steve turned and his stomach dropped out through his ankles. His nightmare was running towards him down the street, distinctly lacking his metallic armour, a dopey smile on his face. Panic rose in Steve's chest as he quickly revised his stats on the situation. The pissed off breakfast roared again and he could see it surging forward.

"_Shit! Is that Tony?!"_ Steve heard Clint shout down the radio.

"Tony! Get down!" Steve was bolting towards him, but there were too many cars blocking his way, and the hand clutching at his chest made time slow down. Steve felt as the shadow of the looming breakfast broke across him, the creature shrieking and whistling and_ swelling_ to titanic proportions in his wake.

"I've got this under control, Cap, don't worry!" the cocky smile was still planted firmly on his face. Steve wanted to wipe it off with his fists.

The next few seconds seemed to slow down and go blurry; a smoking limb snaked overhead, incredibly fast; the pounding of Steve's feet against the concrete; Tony standing up on the _hood of a car, _arms spread wide like a sacrifice as his suit flew towards him, opening in preparation for its master; and Steve feeling relieved, pissed but relieved.

Until the creature's charred probe wrapped around the suit in mid flight like no more than the bird from minutes ago, sucking it back into the black abyss in triumph. Twelve tenticles erupted from Stinky's surface and Steve saw Tony's eyes widen in a silent "oh shit" as they streaked towards him.

"TONY!"

Steve was almost there, almost to him, only a few cars away now and Tony seemed to be fixed in place, rendered mute for once and arms still outstretched. It was a race between the tentacles and Steve, his entire being focussed down to a single tunnel of thought; _tonytonytonytonytonytonytony _. His arm stretched out in front of him as he bounded across the last few feet, and he could hear his own voice shouting at Tony to move, almost there to pull him down and out of reach, hand wrapping around his comrades' wrist and Tony's eyes suddenly on his own-

"_We have detergent inbound, 20 seconds out-"_ Steve jerked his head at the distraction and it was all it took. In an instant Tony's waist was encircled in black slime and the sound of tires almost drowned out the whispered "_Steve_!"as he was whipped into the air.

_Nonononononononononotony_, Steve's mind was whirring, gears churning statistics and strategy modifications behind the steady thrum of _no no no please no_.

His chest felt like it had been hit by a falling tree, and then he was running backwards, away from Tony, almost blindly. He smelt the sickly sweet pine scent of the truck before he saw it, saw the crews hooking up a fireman's gurney to the tanker and moving far, far too slow. He poured on the speed; there could only be about fifty feet between them. Steve looked back at the creature; the tentacle was still outstretched and dangling, working its way around Tony's body, wrapping across his mouth and almost covering him completely. It takes a human approximately three minutes to pass out from lack of oxygen, and then brain death occurs within 6 minutes of the initial suffocation. Steve was not going to be late. He heard the startled shouts of the tanker workers as he streaked between them. He took hold of the gurney nozzle in his gloved hands and looked up at the tanker crew. He shot them a 1000-watt smile that he didn't quite feel.

"Make sure that's turned on for me, folks." He said and then his feet were pounding the pavement again as he streaked towards the breakfast again. The whistling was building in a twisted crescendo as he weaved through the cars, and he felt the jolt as the hose ran out. It was close, _so close_, but not close enough. He needed height. He needed...

Steve vaulted onto the roof of a taxi and then the yellow school bus beside it in two smooth jumps. He held the hose up high.

"Hey Stinky!"

He felt the creature's attention latch onto him. Tony's hand fell limp.

"Get out of my fry pan."

The green detergent surged, and the sentient breakfast _screamed_.

...

***A.N. Sorry for the slow updates! Exams, man, they get me every time...

Anywho, tell me your thoughts, next chapter soon. :) hehehehehehe

Feel free to yell at me. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Stony chapter 4

It worked. It was actually working. The creature seemed to be deflating like a soufflé made of craft glue. Its howls were earsplitting, and appendages were flailing everywhere, cracking window glass and overturning a hotdog stand. The detergent spewed across the charred membrane serving as its skin, the unappealing smell of pine-fresh garbage rising in steamy clouds. Steve barely acknowledged the fire crews who rushed up to his level from below, scarcely handing over the hose before leaping onto the asphalt at a run. Steve felt a certain level of satisfaction as he heard the monster's wails and watched as it collapsed in on itself. It failed to shroud the constricting feeling in his stomach that he couldn't explain.

_Team mates team mates team mates tony find fix solve oh lord what if no mustn't think like that…._

Steve waded into the blackened muck without a second thought, knee deep as he fumbled and searched. He couldn't see over the vast pillowy expanse of neutralized monster-goo, and he forced himself to stay in soldier-mode. The radio was abuzz with concern for Tony, voices cutting in over each other to ask and relay garbled information. Steve blocked it out.

"Tony!" He called, tripping over something submerged.

_Oh god oh god oh god people can't last this long without air he's suffocating in his own breakfast how could I have let this happen Tony….._

"TONY!" desperation crept into his voice and his eyes swept the murky surroundings. He whipped off his cowl and rubbed the back of his neck, forcing his way over to where he thought Tony had last been seen.

He heard the squelch and almighty gasp four minutes and twenty eight seconds after turning on the detergent hose. Steve counted. A few meters to his left, completely and utterly covered in acrid slime, Tony emerged, the whip of his head sending a wide arc of muck into the air. The whites of his eyes stood out starkly from his face and his mouth worked open and shut like a fish on the floor of a boat. Tony staggered forward, and over the relieved babble on the intercom Steve could feel an irrational sort of rage building, the sort which refused to slow down for logic or self preservation, preferring to sweep headlong to conclusions without letting Steve know. He watched, anger boiling up to the surface, as Tony threw him the same cocky grin and muttered, "Well, that didn't go as I planned."

Steve's hands curled into fists, and he tromps (yes, "tromps" is really the only word for it) over until he is well and truly within Tony's reach. He jabs a finger into Tony's chest, careful of the arc reactor even in his rage, and with a thunderous expression Steve hissed,

"_Is this all a joke to you_?" Tony's eyes widened in confusion and Steve felt a gleam of satisfaction as the grin slowly subsided. Steve is slightly surprised at the amount of venom he mustered into so few words.

"What do you mean-?"

"I _mean_," Steve continued loudly, "do you not care at all for the safety of your team mates? This city? The _world_? Because that's CERTAINLY what it seems like to me." He was on a roll, his blood ringing in his ears and his breath hitching in his lungs. His voice was most certainly not getting slightly shrill at the end of his little rant. Tony was looking at him funny, his eyes burning Steve's cheeks, and Steve turned away, pacing in the muck. Or at least, attempting to. It more resulted in a strange, jerking waddle. His free hand swept up to the back of his neck and he let out a strangled groan.

" Steve, I think you might be overreacting a little bit here-"

"Overreacting?!" Steve practically screamed,

" OVERREACTING?! You just got swallowed by a GIANT SLIME MONSTER THAT YOU CREATED! THIS IS _YOUR MESS_, TONY, AND YOU TREATED IT LIKE A _PUBLICITY STUNT_!" He stormed back over to Tony and fisted his blackened shirt, eyes narrowed, and lifted him until their noses were a hair-breadths apart. Steve could feel Tony's feet scrabbling for the ground in the muck like a coat dangling on a hook, could feel the other man's breath as he stared back at Steve wide eyed. It was then that Steve hissed, with a venom that could burn through a thousand doombots, "You are _nothing_ without your suit, except a short scientist with an _attitude problem_."

He dropped Tony onto his feet with a derisive flick of the wrist and walked away. Steve could practically feel Tony's eyes on the back of his head and walked faster, passing the medical team that was rushing forward to help like a gaggle of white geese after their children. Steve brushed them away impatiently.

"Go help Tony, he needs help, not me, go, please, I'm fine."

He would not let Tony see the way his hands were shaking, couldn't let him see the sheer panic that had been bubbling like a traitorous whisper in his eyes when he thought of losing Tony. Wouldn't let him see the way he leant against a brick wall as soon as he was out of sight, head in his hands and taking sharp breaths to steady himself as the adrenaline and _something else_ left his system. He couldn't let Tony see these things, because Tony was too smart for his own good, too perceptive, and Tony would put together the pieces that Steve himself was only just putting together now.

He couldn't let Tony _know_.

*** A.N. Sorry for a late update! Hopefully I will write faster this week. Let me know what you all think of the story so far, I'm super dooper interested! Love all of my darling commenters!****


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

It was three hours after what had been dubbed by the media "The Omelette of Doom", or what Clint had lovingly called "Family Fallout #2.5". Steve was sitting rigid and impassive next to Tony in the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, bruised body already healing itself with serum-induced speed, watching on grainy CCTV camera footage as Dummy put the disastrous meal down the Biohazard chute in the wall. He stifled the guilt of blaming Tony for something that was now obviously an accident. He had been making a point, he told himself. To apologize now would be to risk exposing his true… _disposition_ towards Tony.

"Why do you even _have_ a biohazard disposal unit built into your house?"

Steve blinked at the sound of Director Fury's incredulous tone, and was about to reply when the other man shook his head, waving away the video carelessly with a gloved hand.

"Don't even bother explaining it to me," Fury said, pacing behind their chairs, "because _I don't wanna know_. All I want to happen is for this little _incident_ to never occur again, least of all at the hands of the people meant to be _protecting our great country_. I don't care whose fault it is; as far as I'm concerned, you're all to blame. You're just lucky no one got hurt, otherwise this would be a much bigger deal than it is right now. " Steve could not help but feel like a naughty school boy getting the age old intimidation routine from his principal. He wondered if they were still allowed to use the cane. Steve wouldn't put it past Fury to pull one out himself, come to think of it.

"Have I made myself clear, gentlemen?"

Steve heard the shifting of an icepack and a quiet grunt of assent as Tony rearranged himself. The fall, despite being inside a gelatinous tentacle, had still been cause for worry with the S.H.I.E.L.D. medical officers, especially when Tony was unable to walk in a straight line on the road and kept unceremoniously collapsing into people's arms. Natasha had commented wryly that it may have just been a ploy to get the attractive nurses numbers, but the way Tony had seemed so utterly out of it when Steve stormed off, swaying slightly and covered in goo, made Steve think otherwise. He was glad that he hadn't been there afterwards; else he might've had to catch Tony. Steve was all too aware now that if he had done so, he would have scooped his friend up in his arms with barely a thought, cradled him to his chest, and never let go.

"Captain?" Steve couldn't help it, so lost in his own thoughts as he was; he jumped.

"Sir, yes sir," he said without thinking, and almost buried his head in his hands in embarrassment. Fury ignored it, and nodded sharply.

"Good. Now get out of my building, and if you so much as put a _dint _on the door as you leave, I will have your wifi signal jammed periodically, randomly, and without warning for a _month_."

"Yes mom," Tony breathed as they walked out of the office, only just loud enough for Steve to hear, and he fought a quirk at his lip. Why on earth couldn't he just stay mad at him? His mind was trying to betray him every step of the way. Trying to make him say sorry. But oh, no. No way. Tony had been blatantly irresponsible, could have gotten himself and plenty of other people killed – an emphasis on the himself- and Steve could not let go by. Not with his track record of loss.

They did not speak on the way out of the building, nor did they speak as Tony slid into the back seat of one of his sleek, alien models of car, handing the icepack to Happy, who turned towards Steve after closing the door. Happy raised his eyebrows in question, and Steve merely shook his head and walked over to his motorcycle. Tony had helped him fix it after 70 years sitting in storage, bent for long hours underneath it as Steve sketched. He hadn't stopped making jokes the entire time, rambling almost to himself, and Steve remembered the distinct impression that Tony wanted to impress him, wanted him there to laugh with him and to just be there in his space.

Steve wondered if Tony would still want that after what he said earlier.

…

Tony sat, semi-comatose and bleary eyed from pain in the back of the car. Everything had gone wrong. Everything always went wrong. That's just kind of how it worked for him. Tony's head was pounding and he felt ill. Probably from the fumes he breathed in whilst dangling from a monstrous tentacle, he reasoned to himself. But Tony knew that wasn't quite true. He knew because the pain didn't spike and stab at him when the car passed over bumps in the road. It tore at his insides when he saw Steve's eyes flash with anger and something else, when he thought of Steve's disappointment scrawled across every feature. He had told him that he was nothing. And as Tony began to doze in his seat, clothes black and crusty with dried monster drool and tears pricking the backs of his eyelids, he couldn't help but agree.

…

A week passed in the Avengers tower without incident. Steve and Tony avoided each other as best as they could, much to the confusion of their team mates. Frankly, neither of them wanted to talk about it. Steve barely left the gym, rain hail or shine, his knuckles becoming more and more bruised as the days went by. When not on a mission to destroy every punching bag from the city with his fists, Steve sketched. It was harder because of his battered hands, and the way he would get distracted and look down at his page and discover that Tony had materialized was dismaying. There he was, bold as brass, filling up Steve's book whether he liked it or not, making the guilt in his stomach twist and groan like a wounded animal. Tony sad. Tony Disappointed. Tony confused. It seemed as though the man had surreptitiously jumped Steve's mind whilst he wasn't looking and, cackling loudly, scrawled his name in sharpie across every spare surface. It was… Distracting to say the least. He was struggling to sleep, his dreams filled to the brim with ice and black sludge. He was only managing to get a few hours a night before jolting awake, covered in cold sweat and shaking and whispering Tony's name until he remembered where he was. The impersonal white lights of the gym were on more nights than not, and Steve found himself training harder and harder. Anything to still his buzzing mind, anything to push away the confusing hurt. It was beginning to show physically in his face, dark circles emerging underneath his eyes like reflections of his dreams, and he spoke little to his friends and teammates. Bruce occasionally came to the gym, standing in the doorway with a plate of food and eyes that spoke of silent understanding. He never said anything, and Steve could not help but marvel at the surprising stillness of a man with such an imposing… Condition. He would disappear silently, plate sitting innocently on a bench or the floor, and Steve would eat alone with his thoughts.

…

Natasha drummed her nails against the kitchen table in a way that normally indicated to Clint that she was going to strangle someone with her thighs. She was staring coldly at an untouched bowl of cereal in pyjama pants and slippers, her fingers tapping a harsh, impatient rhythm onto the marble counter, and Clint could tell that she was itching to stab someone with a stiletto. He smirked into his mug of coffee as he watched her, perched precariously on top of the high kitchen cupboards like an extremely amused gargoyle. He knew Natasha well; master assassin, highly capable and armed with an almost completely emotionless exterior, this frustration was a side of her that Clint had only been allowed to see through much shared suffering and close scrapes. If there is one thing Clint has learnt, it is that there is nothing that brings two people together like having to suture each others' battle wounds. Clint decided to wait it out. He watched her dark eyes as they swirled, practically aglow with an irate fury being calculated. He saw her eyes dart to the door on the left, over to the elevator doors which led to the gym, lobby and garage, and Clint grins as her hand slams against the table.

"This is getting ridiculous," she says, her eyes locking onto Clint like a sniper's scope. Clint would almost have thought that she hadn't known he was there. But this was Natasha. Nothing escapes from Natasha's gaze. Clint merely smiles down at her and swings his legs up to cross them.

"What is?" he asks, purely for the sake of hearing her talk. Clint is the only person in the entire Avengers Tower to think that Natasha is funny when she is frustrated.

"_This_!" she waves emphatically at the empty doorway. "It's been three weeks now. Rogers doesn't eat or sleep anymore and practically never leaves the gym, unless he runs out of punching bags. Stark, well, Stark didn't eat or sleep in the first place, but NOW all he does is sulk with his power tools in his workshop. The last time I saw him was two days ago, coming to get coffee at three in the morning. Whatever happened between those two after the breakfast thing needs to be dealt with." Clint stretched himself out lazily across the cupboard's top like a cat, letting his head hang upside down over the edge.

"And how are you going to do that, oh fearless leader?" He said amiably, balancing his coffee cup on his right foot. She was silent, and he twisted backwards further to look at her. Natasha had her thinking face on again.

"I'm going to call Fury." She said decisively, standing up from the bench. Clint stiffened, then gracefully tumbled to the ground with little more than the whisper of socks.

"Oh, no you're not!" he said emphatically, following her out of the kitchen as Natasha whips a phone out of god-knows-where. He caught her shoulder with one hand and spun her round to face him. She was too quick though, and Clint was caught by surprise (or so he'll tell you), and somehow in three seconds flat he found himself with Natasha's heel pressing his face into the floor and wrapped up like a pretzel.

"Sh, darling, mummy's on the phone," she cooed playfully to him, and he moaned up through his limited mouth space,

"_But he'll make us DO STUFF! People stuff!"_

There was a pause, felt Natasha shift minutely, and then he was being bent upwards by a meticulously manicured hand.

"I don't care if Fury says we have to run a freaking _petting zoo _for a day, Barton. If it makes those two sulking man-children pull their heads out of each other's_ arschlocher_, we're all going to do it, and we're going to do it with smiles on our rosy. Little. Faces." She pinched his cheek and then sauntered away, talking on her phone and suddenly the emotionless agent again. Clint was left to dust himself off in the hallway. Never a dull moment in the Avengers Tower.

***A.N. uuuuuuuuuurngh I need sleep. Sorry for the break, guys, I got major writers block, and I churned out the last five hundred words in a desperate attempt to just push through it. It's completely unedited, so please don't judge me too harshly. Not to give anything away yet, but the next chapter will be super dooper exciting, so hold in there for me my darlings! reviews are my bread and butter, folks, and help me write faster. Much love to all my followers! Writer is out.***


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Tony Stark was pissed off. Standing in front of his bathroom mirror, staring intently into his reflected eyes, Tony contemplated various excuses to shuck off his tuxedo shirt and hide in the basement until the evening from hell was over. Many semi-plausible excuses floated to the brim of his concentration. A sudden lead on Doctor Doom's latest laughable lair. An unexpected bout of arc reactor sickness. Hell, fuck it, he's Tony Stark, the most predictably unpredictable billionaire on the planet, he could just buy the whole of Latveria outright and still have time to turn up late to this _ridiculous art gala_.

Thing.

Whatever.

_There's even a marathon of the tenth doctor on television tonight_, he thought sulkily to himself as he slowly did up each button, covering up the well-muscled and scarred chest underneath. The orders had come directly from Fury himself, with some half-assed spiel about positive avengers P.R. after the breakfast foible. The little brochure on the event lay open on the bench, carelessly cast down next to his cuff links, taunting him silently with its glossy, chic refinedness. Printed upon it in expensive and classy lettering were the words "Drawings from D-Day: Artwork from the Frontlines", the Metropolitan Art museum choosing to lie unobtrusively beneath.

Apparently Captain I'm-the-Most-Noble-In-All-The-Land was having some of his old drawings displayed and auctioned for charity. Tony wasn't even surprised. In fact, he fully expected twenty or so variations of the blessed stars and stripes in Steve's- _Cap's_- section of the gallery. Because that just had Captain America written all over it. Perhaps there would even be a bald eagle or two. Tony sighed, swiped his jacket and bowtie from the bathroom bench (Pepper had kindly laid them out for him after the last set had been accidentally incinerated) and on a whim plucked up the Iron Man sensor bracelets. _Better safe than sorry_, he thought, and headed off to drive his gaudiest car available.

Steve stood stiff-backed near a portrait of Peggy, a polite smile decorating his face as he spoke with a besuited man. He looked the perfect soldier, standing at rest as a superior discussed the lines of his work with him. The man was practically oozing the apple-pie modesty that was tied to his being.

Tony turned away from the sight and stood stewing, shoulders hunched around him like a hermit crabs shell in front of Steve's art. He was standing on the farthest side of the gallery from the captain. Strings wafted through the air like perfume and pompous chatter filled the expo like a cinematic stereotype of the social elite. Which, when it came down to it, they kind-of were. Tony had even seen a man wearing a MONOCLE wander past, brandy glass perched in his hand obediently. Who even wears monocles these days? He thought to himself. To make matters worse, Tony didn't really have anyone to talk to. Clint and Natasha had skulked off to god knows where, Thor was at the drinks table being Thor, and Bruce… well, Bruce had been cornered by a clingy old lady coated in jewels, and tony just didn't want to mess with that.

His attention returned to the art in front of him, and Tony had to begrudgingly admit that it was not all bad. Contrary to his previous beliefs, the Captain's art was distinctly lacking patriotic symbolism. The pages in front of him were yellowed with age and had obviously been pulled from Shield archives. Tony looked closer to them, peering at the faces in the image. They were clearly all male, but the way the lines were constructed was different, they were more like the echoes of people, their essence captured on a page. There was one drawn with more precision, a face with dark eyes and a wolfish grin. Tony frowned. Steve had obviously liked this person. He'd drawn him over and over, rough and detailed features, all over the pages. All expressions, all movements captured on paper exactly the way Steve saw the world and the people in it. It was beautiful. The way Steve saw things was so real, so fluid and organic and perfect, and Tony could practically feel the warmth of Steve's passion radiating at him through the careworn pages-

Tony shook himself out of his reverie.

Oh Dear.

With a quick, furtive look around him, he ducked his head and whipped out his phone. He tapped out the art's auction number to Jarvis, and the phone pulsed in his hand in acknowledgment.

"Hello, Tony." Tony almost swore as he dropped his phone, reaching for it desperately as it tumbled. A broad-shouldered ninja caught it nimbly one-handed, and offered it out to Tony. He pretended not to notice how smooth and warm Steve's hands were as he swiped it back, and threatened his palladium-powered heart with health food if it didn't stop jumping around in his chest like a fangirl.

"Geez, Cap, you can't keep doing that, you're gonna give me a heart attack." He said, attempting blasé but only managing irritation. Steve's eyes went puppy-dog wide and a little wrinkle appeared in his forehead.

"Is that even possible, with the reactor and all?" there was a pause, and Tony watched as Steve's eyes went ever wider (_seriously, is he Bambi or something_, Tony thought) and his cheeks flamed up.

"Oh God, Tony, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-" Tony was fascinated with the way Steve's emotions flashed across his face so blazingly clear. Regret, panic, frustration, all sweeping past so quickly Tony feared he might get whiplash. Steve looked into Tony's eyes, and sighed. He looked kind of tired, now Tony looked closely, and wondered how much sleep Cap was getting. Tried to tell himself that he didn't care.

"I just… I want to apologise, I suppose." Tony could suddenly see where this was going and resorted to his default program function: assholery. He clapped a hand on Steve's enormous shoulder and plastered a shit-eating smirk on his face.

"Don't worry about it grandpa, most people think I have a tin heart any way. Guess that's what you get for having to hack at yourself in a desert cave under the torture of terrorists to save your own life, isn't it? Oh well. C'est la vie, champ. I'll live on. If you'll excuse me now…"

Tony cursed inwardly as an iron grip closed around his wrist, whisking him back towards a man who he _really didn't want to talk to right now_. Steve was now well and truly crowding his space, and Tony could smell his cologne and his clean, fresh skin and see the exact way his shirt stretched across his chest. He wasn't going to able to think clearly for very long.

"Tony, please, you know I wasn't talking about that…"

"Then why don't you just say what you mean?" Tony hadn't meant to sound so viperous, but he was starting to panic. Steve's grip on his wrist loosened and his face looked like someone had told him what happens to puppies that don't get adopted at the pound.

"Why do you have to be so frustrating all the time, Tony? For crying out loud, I'm trying to say sorry for the other day and all you can do is snark, snark, snark at me!"

"I don't have to put up with this," Tony exclaimed, finally (heartbreakingly) wrenching his wrist free of Steve and taking a step back.

"Take your delicious cologne and perfect chest elsewhere, Steve, I'm busy trying to hate you."

Steve looked baffled. "My perfect what-?"

The next minutes were chaos.

The lights cut to red. Plumes of putrid smoke bloomed from seemingly nowhere, and the sound of screaming and gagging filled the air. Steve shouted to Tony over the din, eyes rolling back in his head and falling like a stone to the floor. Tony lurched forward, arms snaking around his chest as the super soldier's knees hit the ground. Tony flicked the sensors on his bracelet and shook Steve.

"Steve? Steve, come on, buddy, now is not the time to go sleeping beauty on me." His head lolled helplessly on his neck, and if this had been a less terrifying moment Tony would have been admiring the line of his throat. A foot landed thoroughly against Tony's ribs, and he fought against the urge to breathe in. No way would he be able to function if the captain's accelerated metabolism couldn't flush the airborne chemicals out. Tony held his breath and hugged Steve's limp form closer to his chest as the hulking dark shape of his suit raced towards him. He counted the seconds as it flew closer, ignoring the vicious kicks he took as civilians attempted to flee.

Really, he should have been expecting it. If Steve had been in his place, Tony knew he would have noticed the masked brutes in trench coats before they had kicked him in the head and wrenched Steve from him. As it was, Tony felt the warm stickiness of his own blood against the back of his head, and was still trying to clear the spots behind his eyes as the suit locked onto its target like a glistening cocoon. The gallery was swarming with henchmen, Tony deftly sideswiping one as they rushed him. The man collapsed like a deck of cards onto the ground, HYDRA logo clear on his epaulet. Well that answered one question. He opened up a comm link.

"Avengers, report." Tony waited a moment, heard the crackle of a radio line being opened, followed by vicious coughing and the _oof _of flesh meeting fists.

"Hawkeye here. I have Black widow and Bruce with me, but this fucking smoke-" another hacking round of coughing interrupted him, " there's something in it that's keeping Bruce from Hulking out, and Widow and I… We're not so good either. Is cap with you?"

"He was, but a couple of goons just took off with him." A string of curses flowed down the commlink.

"We'll take care of these leather Nazi clowns, you go rescue the princess." Tony grinned in his battle suit.

"Don't need to tell me twice."

He launched himself into the air and pelted out of the gallery in pursuit. Jarvis was tracking their three heat signatures; Steve was barely a blue-green blip between the yellowy-red figures hobbling through the Egyptian wing, and Tony's mind reeled at what that could mean for a normally super-heated man. Tony's head was still pounding, the suit pumping him full of painkillers, but he was focused on one thing; the burning panic that clung to his insides and seared the edges of his reasoning. If those bastards had laid one foul Nazi finger on Steve, he was going to make sure the Shield cleaning team was scraping them from all four walls of the Metropolitan Gallery.

They hadn't made it very far. They were nothing more than a pair of grunts. No backup, no covering squads. Hell, their guns were still in their holsters. If he hadn't already seen their uniforms, Tony would have thought that they were a couple of amateurs that had gotten in way over their own heads. One of the two made a rather unmanly noise when Tony landed in front of them in the lobby. Jarvis alerted him of a vehicle waiting outside, but Tony barely registered it over the crumpled form supported between the two henchmen. Blonde hair was stained red with blood, and heads were going to be mounted on plaques.

"Drop the supersoldier, gentlemen, before I deep fry you both." He said, and almost laughed when one of them actually did as he said, flinging himself to the floor and crawling away towards a fire exit. The other grunt was slightly savvier, pulling his pistol out and pointing it at Steve's head, even as he struggled under the deadweight.

"Stay back or I'll shoot!" he shrieked. Tony narrowed his eyes and tried to push past the panic that stopped him from formulating a plan. He couldn't freeze up. He had to stay cool.

"Really?" he asked, "You're going to shoot the guy you- sorry, your bosses- went to all the trouble to kidnap, just because an awesome guy like myself stepped in front of you and told you stop? Doesn't that seem a bit stupid to you? I mean, think about it, do you _really_ want to be on the bad side of a powerful evil organization? Killing their golden goose and all? Look, I'm going to be nice, I'll lower my weapon if you do, okay?"

The grunt hesitated, and Steve whimpered at his side. That was all the distraction it took for Tony to hit the last one with a tranquillizing dart. The man crumpled to the hard floor, head cracking against the cold marble, and Steve followed suit in slow motion, a hand propping him up unsteadily for a moment and then slipping out from underneath him. Oh no oh no oh no, Tony thought, and let his faceplate retract as he rushed toward his comrade- no, his friend- no, his _Steve_- and knelt over him with a metallic clunk. He wasn't sure what to do, he couldn't remember the Shield-mandatory first aid course he had suffered through, and his gauntlets hovered over Steve's unmoving form. He could feel them shaking inside his gloves, could feel his breath coming short and sharp from adrenalin. Acting on instinct, he gently edged his hands under Steve's knees and around his shoulders, the suit lending him strength as he stood with the Captain in his arms. A tiny, seedy part of his brain wished he could feel the press of Steve's body against his as he tried to figure out where to take his burden. Unsure of what else to do, he started walking towards the stairs back to the gallery. Perhaps he should call in, make sure the rest of the team was alright.

Steve murmured in his arms though, rolling closer into Tony's chest, and all other thoughts dissipated like a shadow cast into light.

"Steve," he practically whispered, unable to keep the panicked strain from his voice. Steve's eyelids flickered open slowly, pupils blown wide and sleepy-looking.

"Tony," he smiled softly up at him, running a wobbly finger across his armour plates. Tony's brain puttered slightly. _Whoah. What?_ He smiled down at the hopped-up Steve.

"Easy there, soldier, I don't think you're quite thinking straight. Let's wait until you're not under the influence of Hydra juice to take this any further, okay? I don't want to be hit with sexual harassment charges on a national symbol. That wouldn't look so good on my record, you know?" Tony babbled, hoping sarcasm might disguise the nervous knot in his chest.

"You are such an ass, Tony," Steve said, and Tony didn't have any idea how it happened but Steve's lips were suddenly pressed against his, his hand pulling Tony down by the back of his neck, and he wasn't quite sure but he thought that for a second there was a surge in the arc reactor battery. Steve tasted like champagne, and mint, and something that was unique and distinctly Steve. Tony's arms tightened around him entirely by themselves and Steve arched up into him, pressing against the armor like he never wanted to let go again. Tony certainly didn't want to let go, toxin induced insanity be damned.

Steve leant back, breaking the kiss sharply, and Tony prepared for the bill of rights to be spouted at him, or to be slapped for being the depraved sleaze that he was.

"How are you even holding me up? You're, like, tiny." Steve said. That was the last thing Tony was expecting, and when he thought about it he felt kind of insulted.

"I'm in my suit, Steve. I can do lots of things in the suit. Hasn't someone explained how my suit works to you yet?" His eyes were still slightly glazed and blank. Tony sighed.

"Let's just leave the science to me." And Tony put the super soldier's already opening mouth to far more productive pursuits.

*** A.N. Well, that's kinda it, folks! There will be an epilogue, soon, but other than that this story is, for all intents and purposes, finished. :) Hope my meagre offering to the fandom is worth it. Love to all of you who stuck through with me and my hopeless updates! ***


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